


memento mori

by strangelysweet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Needs a Hug, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Drabble, Evil Author Day, M/M, Third Semester (Persona 5), and probably one of those muzzles you see on dogs who bite people, just like me to pollute shuake week with the sad shit again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangelysweet/pseuds/strangelysweet
Summary: It's ironic, really. Goro can't heal the one person he desperately needs to be alive, and he's in a hospital.He turns Kurusu's limp body over, pulling him onto his lap, and shaking him firmly. "Joker, get up. Get up. You're not done yet."---Joker takes a hit.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	memento mori

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Violence, Gore, Ice, Blood, Major Character Death
> 
> teehee back on my bullshit with the sad, gory shit yet again.

The second he's on the floor, Goro knows Kurusu's not getting up. His shoulders shaking, Kurusu plants his hands on the floor, trying to push himself from the cold, clinical tiles of Maruki's palace. Red drips onto those pale blue squares, and the mask falls to the floor, stained on the inside with scarlet speckles of blood. Goro lets out a primal scream, half calling out Kurusu's codename, half unintelligible howling. Loki screams as well, clawing out at the monsters in front of them with his claws. They fall. Yoshizawa had collapsed too, and Kurusu was meant to heal her, but he's on the floor now, and Goro doesn't think he's breathing. 

The floors scrapes against his knees as he slides to the convulsing body of the boy he hated so much, clawed gauntlets scratching at the metal of his helmet, trying to remove it. It falls to the floor with a hollow clang, echoing in the hospital-like hallways. It's ironic, really. Goro can't heal the one person he desperately needs to be alive, and he's in a hospital. 

He turns Kurusu's limp body over, pulling him onto his lap, and shaking him firmly. "Joker, get up. Get up. You're not done yet." 

Trying so hard to make his voice stop shaking, but the sound comes out quiet, like he's hearing himself from another room. Kurusu's eyes open slightly, glassy and dazed as blood drips from the cut underneath his eyebrow. It stains his lips like paint, or the lipgloss his vapid friend Takamaki uses, bright and lustrous. A small, pathetic gasp of air leaves his mouth, and his red glove comes up to touch the side of Goro's face. It's warm with blood, and the color rubs off onto his cheek. 

"Hey," He rasps, one hand resting on his slashed chest, the flesh and cloth peeling away to reveal glistening muscle and white bone. It's crystallized with tiny fragments of unmelting ice from the magic attack the creature used. They line the cut like sharp, sparkling gems or teeth. The more Goro looks at them, the less beautiful they seem, and the more they start to look like a horrid, amalgamated maw that gapes up at him from Kurusu's chest. 

He swallows back a cry of disgust and fear, gripping the torn lapels of Kurusu's coat. "Joker, get _up_. Which pocket is the Revivadrin in?" 

Slowly, painfully, Kurusu shakes his head. "They're all gone, Akechi." 

"Don't play martyr with me, Kurusu," He hisses, eyes narrowing as he glares at the dying boy's face, "I'm not one of your friends who thinks it's charming. Get the fuck up and get one of those stupid pills from your jacket!" 

When Kurusu laughs, it sounds like the wheezing of a dying fire. It makes Goro's head swim with anger, fear, and helpless sadness. Kurusu shifts slightly, wincing as his rib inches further into a messily torn muscle. "Akechi, I'm sorry. I really am." 

"I don't want to hear that!" He yells, shaking him again. "I want you to get back on your feet and beat the shit out of your therapist." 

The hand on his face is shaking, and as Kurusu tries to sit up, it slides down his cheek, smearing someone else's blood on his face. "I still have your glove." 

There is silence. Yoshizawa's body lies a few feet away, half encased in sharp waves of ice, pink from where it fuses with her skin. Goro bites his tongue, trying to suppress a sob of fury as Kurusu's other hand comes to rest on his gauntlet. It hurts to know that the only time that he's ever wanted to touch him this badly is the only time when he can't remove his gloves. They're hardly gloves, to begin with, but they obstruct the skin of his palms from feeling the warmth of Kurusu's hand on his before it turns cold. 

"Why are you bringing this up now?" He chokes out, tears welling up in his eyes. 

Kurusu smiles sadly. "Because I don't know when I'm going to be able to give it back to you. In this world, Sojiro thinks we're friends, and he'll let you into my room."

"Kurusu, shut up, you're going to make it worse," He hisses, not wanting to hear how this sentence ends.

The dark-haired boy ignores him, continuing. "In the pocket of my coat, the big one with the blue scarf next to it, Goro, you're going to find your glove. You're going to take it home, and you're going to wear both of them. Alright?"

"Shut up, Akira!" He yells, hanging his head in an attempt to tear his eyes away from the ice-peppered wound in Akira's chest. "Why aren't you summoning anything? Why aren't you _trying_?" 

Despite the volume of Goro's voice, Akira's tone stays soft and frail. "Because I'm tired. I've saved the world once already, but this one is so kind to you that I don't think it particularly needs it this time. You get to be happy in this reality. _You_ get to be alive, and I think that's wonderful."

Silence falls again, and the soundless halls of the hospital-like building feel oppressive. A tear falls onto Goro's cheek, and he doesn't lift his head, keeping his eyes trained on the broken domino mask half a meter away from him. 

"Why does this sound like a goodbye?" 

Sighing, Akira tucks Goro's hair behind his ear, exposing his face. "It is. But it also isn't. It's a promise, of sorts." 

"Don't make promises you can't keep," He growls, glowering at the floor, "you were meant to be my antithesis. You were meant to challenge me, surprise me, be steps ahead and behind me."

Finally, Goro wrenches his gaze from the mask and sets his eyes on Akira's greying face. "This wasn't supposed to end like this. I swear to God, it should have been me who got to kill you." 

"I think I would have liked that." Akira rasps, and his chest shudders as his lungs start to tremble from the cold and the train. 

The mangled wound slowly becomes encased in ice, crystals creeping over the white flashes of bone in Akira's chest. Goro watches, rapt with horror, as the frost blossoms like a flower, and Akira takes Goro's face in both of his hands, keeping his gaze fixed on his face. Blood froths on his lips, but strangely enough, Goro doesn't care as Akira presses his lips to his forehead. It's a fleeting kiss, and it's hardly enough to even come _close_ to sating Goro, so he slides a clawed hand behind Akira's head and leans down. 

He's dreamt about this moment. He came close to doing it in the interrogation room, but kissing a corpse of someone, who he knew wasn't real, felt tacky. Akira deserved better than that. Right now, he tastes of blood and is colder than any ice Goro's ever touched. Determined to make the last wound on Akira's body his, Goro bites his bottom lip, then sweeps his tongue over it. A weak noise of satisfaction and content reverberates in Goro's skull as Akira whimpers into his mouth, trembling hands slipping further and further down his face. 

And then, just as slowly as it came, the ice gradually stops growing. As it does so, Akira's flesh turns cold, his pulse slackens, and his arms fall limp on his chest. His head lolls in Goro's hands, devoid of any life. Doll-like and still, Joker is no more, just a corpse of a teenage boy. Goro has seen a dead body before. Hell, he's made dead bodies before, but seeing Akira like this makes fear grip his throat like a vice, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

Slowly, he gets up, laying Akira gently on the floor, picking up his helmet, and drawing his sword. Looking up the corridor, through the haze of distorted air, he can almost see a hint of gold-plated armor and a white cape, billowing in the wind. The very sight of it makes his jaw clench, and the blood in the shape of a kiss on his forehead boil. The red, serrated edge of his sword drags along the clinical halls, drawing a line of scarlet liquid through the cracks in the light blue tile. 

When Loki screams, grief, anger, and gut-wrenching sadness thrum in his veins like a drum, and Goro growls, Akira's blood on his tongue. 

**Author's Note:**

> i drink in your tears of disgust, frustration, and sadness with my morning smoothie.  
> >:)


End file.
